Waking Up
by zotlot
Summary: Rachel finally grows up, and stands up to Jesse Saint-James. A rewrite of that horrible egg scene, where Rachel stands her ground. Rated K for one use of moderately strong language


Title: Waking Up

Fandom: Glee

Rating: K+ for one use of moderately bad language

Genre: Angst/Drama

Characters/Pairings: Rachel and Jessie, Vocal Adrenalin

Spoilers: Up to 'Funk'

Summary: Rachel finally grows up, and stands up to Jessie Saint-James. A rewrite of that horrible egg scene, where Rachel stands her ground.

A/N: This scene just made me so angry, I had to do something about it. It's carefully proof-read but un-BETA'd, just because, being in the UK, I don't know if my usual BETA has seen this episode yet, and I'd hate to spoiler her (if you haven't seen it, Wikkid.X, stop reading NOW!) As always, read & review!

The rain of eggs finally stopped, and Rachel looked up from her defensive position. There he stood - the boy she'd used to get over Finn; the boy she'd thought finally, finally, was the one who understood her; Jesse Saint-James, her first proper, perfect boyfriend.

Holding an egg in one hand, her heart in the other.

She wanted to say something. Something heartbroken and romantic - Éponine accepting her fate; Christine's final words to the Phantom; Juliet's sweet farewell to Romeo as he sped away into exile. She wanted to play the part he had assigned her, the heartbroken, crushed, humiliated heroine.

But something stopped her. Something, deep in her soul, deeper than her theatricality or her inner well of dramatic clichés, prevented her from whispering her last, lovesick words.

So she looked up, not with eyes filled with unshed tears or unspoken emotion, but with fire and resolve. She wasn't going down without a fight. In that moment, she was Rachel Berry - not Rachel Berry, queen of the slushy-in-the-face; not Rachel Berry, Shelby Corcoran's long-lost daughter. She was Rachel Berry, future Queen of Broadway and Independent Woman. She wasn't Juliet, bidding goodbye to her lost, misguided lover. She was Joan of Arc, facing the armies of her enemies with only her own inner strength on her side.

"What are you waiting for?" Something about his hesitation made her horribly, wonderfully angry. He was just… watching her, stopped in his tracks out of guilt or regret or satisfaction at his victory, she didn't know. And, right now, neither did she care. The red mist had descended on her mind, stopping all rational thought of '_Run now!_' or '_Cry for help!_' from impacting on her thoughts. She was more angry than she'd ever been in her life. "What, do you want me to cry? Do you want me to beg you to stop, remind you of all the good times, ask you why you're doing this?" She laughed, and it was the most hollow sound she'd ever heard. "You'll be waiting forever. I'll never cry over _you_." she put all the snide and hurt and utter contempt she felt for the whole situation into that one last word.

He stepped forward, the egg now raised. The fire still blazed in her eyes, squashing down every last trace of confused pain or love she felt for him. "I loved you." He said, simply, and she had to admit she didn't expect it. She wanted him to sneer back, to say something hurtful and cold. But he already had. Ice had positively dripped from every syllable.

"Funny." She lied, "Cause I didn't." She recognised the ambition on his face, the compliance with the ugly, twisted people who surrounded them. she didn't ask him why he was doing this, why this soulless monster now inhabited what was once her boyfriend's skin. She smiled at him, the cruellest smile possible, the one she'd perfected for her audition for the Wicked Queen in the fifth grade Snow White play.

He raised that stupid egg a little higher, threateningly, and she was horribly pleased to see the flash of pain that lit in his eyes before the ice extinguished it. "Go ahead." She muttered, "Break it." _Like you broke my heart_. "I never expected anything more."

He pressed it to her forehead, applying a slow build of pressure. The bastard was drawing this out, making her humiliation and his betrayal last as long as possible. All trace of Jessie, her boyfriend, her love, her soul mate, was gone now. In his place was Jessie Saint-James, Vocal Adrenalin's model-gorgeous, pitch-perfect, completely soulless star performer. And that Jessie was enjoying this. This was his greatest performance.

"And you know what?" She whispered, trying desperately to stop her voice from cracking, "I won't miss you at all." The lie was easy, and she was sure in time it would be truth.

The egg broke, and slimy yolk dripped down her face, over her lips and into her eyes. She saw him turn, start to walk away, and the fire in her veins reached inferno. She felt her face twist into an expression she couldn't put a name to - a mix of unbearable hurt and unconcealed hatred and just a bit of malicious glee.

She reached out an arm and gripped his forearm with all her strength. And suddenly, this wasn't an act anymore. This was reality, and Rachel Berry had finally woken up. He didn't get to walk away, like the resigned antihero. He didn't get to act like the one who'd made the difficult decision for the greater good.

He didn't get to leave without feeling just a micron of her pain.

She spun him around, the element of surprised allowing her smaller body to pull him off balance. He'd been completely certain of her docility, that she'd just stand there, his crushed and broken hearted ex, and allow him to walk away.

He didn't know who she was now - who he'd awakened with his betrayal. Her palm connected with his cheek with every ounce of force she possessed, "We're over. Loser."


End file.
